


The ABCs of Demonology

by solynacea



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Drabble Collection, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, NSFW Alphabet, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:21:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25003051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solynacea/pseuds/solynacea
Summary: A series of drabbles based onthe-coldest-goodbye'sNSFW Alphabet template. Each drabble has a different theme, but all of them star Dante Sparda.
Relationships: Dante (Devil May Cry)/Reader, Dante/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 172





	1. Aftercare

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, and welcome to _The ABCs of Demonology_ , a drabble collection I've been toying around with for a while. I wanted to do some fun, short things for Dante while I work on my longer fics, and thought there was no better way than this! I hope you enjoy reading these as much as I have writing them! 
> 
> Ratings and tags will be updated as necessary.
> 
> Cross-posted to my Tumblr: [solynaceawrites](http://solynaceawrites.tumblr.com/).

Dante has lived a rough life. It’s one of the things you noticed long before he ever told you, a suspicion founded in the walls a mile thick he kept between himself and the people around him, even the ones he’d known for a long time. Sure, he might open up a bit every now and then, when Patty came to visit or Nero was talking about his latest job and you’d catch that barely there curl to his lips born from genuine affection and pride, but, for the most part, he rarely showed anything other than a devil-may-care nonchalance coupled with a biting wit. Hell, you hadn’t known he’d been interested in getting into your pants until he’d had you pinned to the top of his desk.

And you were usually pretty good about catching  _ those  _ sorts of signs.

But those jagged edges were just as apparent in your lovemaking and the moments after as they were in the rest of his life, at least in the beginning. The foreplay was quick, the sex brutal, and his version of aftercare was tossing you a towel and telling you where the aspirin was before heading out to a job or for food. It made you ache, and not in a good way, your chest tightening and an uncomfortable, prickling heat spreading through your veins: embarrassment and a dash of humiliation at how little you must have meant to him to get nothing more than the absolute minimum of courtesy. 

It had come to a head one night. You, tired of feeling not enough—you might have had your share of one-night stands and flings, but you made damn sure that they felt cared for and loved when you left—and him, telling you to leave if you didn’t like it. You called his bluff, and there was a two-month period of time where you saw neither hide nor hair of the Legendary Devil Hunter. Patty had dropped by your apartment a few times to tell you that he was hurting, more waspish than usual and drowning in cheap beer and pizza grease, and you’d told her that he’d made his bed and he could lie in it. So imagine your surprise when you’d gotten a text one night when you were spoon deep in a pint of ice cream with a cheesy black-and-white film on the television warning you Dante was on his way over.

The only reason you’d let him in was the giant bag of take-out he held up as an offering. It was all food from your favorite place, an Italian joint with the best alfredo you’d ever had in your life, and he’d pulled out the containers of pasta and bread and soup and cheesecake and set them all out nice and pretty on your chipped dining room table. You’d had a bottle of wine that worked well enough, and even two candles, and the two of you had eaten in a silence that felt heavy with anticipation, broken only by requests for a napkin or the salt. He’d waited until you were done to talk, and you’d listened as he apologized, a fumbling, earnest plea for forgiveness, a promise to do better. No excuses, not that he was prone to giving them, and the conversation that followed was genuine. An airing of grievances, so to speak, and he’d listened as you told him how you’d been feeling, how you didn’t want him to be anyone else, just a clear idea of what you meant to him.

After that, Dante had taken steps to improve. It was slow, at times, human fragility strange to him, but he  _ tried,  _ and that’s all that mattered to you. And he surprised you, too, with how much he already knew about you and your needs, something that led him to admit how much he watched you whenever you were around. 

“Hey,” he murmurs. You rouse yourself from your dozing ruminations on the past to find him settling next to the tub, a bottle of water in one hand that he sets on the floor as he kneels. “How ya feeling?”

You take the aspirin he offers gratefully, swallowing them dry. “Worn out,” you answer, and he chuckles and dips a hand into the bath to stroke over your thigh. “This is nice, though.”

He perks up, a pleased shine to his eyes that brings a boyish charm to his features. It’s one of the reasons you love him, you think, the eagerness to earn your approval that had come the longer the two of you were together, the more the walls crumbled between you. “Yeah? Good. You plannin’ to soak for a while?”

“If I do, I’ll fall asleep.”

Dante chuckles. “Probably shouldn’t. C’mon, let’s get you into bed.”

You offer no resistance when he lifts you from the tub to set you on your feet in front of him, and he remains on his knees as he carefully dries you off, planting a kiss to the red marks at your wrists. The towel he uses is warm, probably fresh from the dryer, and you’re yawning and swaying by the time he’s done. In fact, you’re pretty boneless when he scoops you up again, cradling you to his chest, which you nuzzle as he carries you into the bedroom and deposits you gently on the sheets, which are clean and soft. From the corner of your eye, you spy the ones that  _ had  _ been on the bed near the closet, but you’re distracted from the reprimand bubbling to your lips when Dante settles next to you and pulls the blanket around you both, an arm holding you snugly to his side. His lips whisper over your hair as you settle, using his shoulder as a pillow and draping a leg over his thighs, and you can’t even find the energy to complain when he shifts to grab the remote.

“Casablanca?” he asks, and you nod, already half-asleep. “Hell yeah.”

Dante’s had a rough life. But his love is genuine and warm, and the care he shows you now speaks volumes to how important you are to him.


	2. Body Part

If you were to sit Dante down and ask him what his favorite part of you was, his only response would be a blank stare. You know this from experience; a run-in with insecurity brought on by constantly comparing yourself to the models in the magazines he kept tucked away in his desk led to you that inquiry one day, and he’d looked just as lost as he had the time you’d told him pizza was not a healthy diet. He’d fumbled for a reply that wound up being an uncertain, “All of you?” which, while heart-warming, wasn’t exactly what you’d hoped for. So, you’d started watching him, trying to see if there was anything he paid extra attention to.

The answer had surprised you.

What Dante seemed fixated on changed from day to day, situation to situation. Sometimes, after you’d spent hours typing up expense reports and client files, it was your hands, and he’d lavish them with an obscene amount of attention. Others, if it was a warm enough day for you to wear shorts, it was the crease where your backside met your thighs, and it wasn’t unusual for him to come up behind you to cop a feel while you were cooking or cleaning. Your stomach, the curve of your neck, your breasts, it was an ever-shifting, mercurial fascination that often left you flustered. You couldn’t even say that he was a tits man or an ass man. He was an everything man, and body worship in all forms was the name of his game.

Tonight, it’s your chest that he’s most interested in. You’d started it, of course, wearing a low-cut tank-top that teased the edges of your red lace bra, and his eyes had been zeroed in exactly where you wanted them to be from the moment you’d walked down into the shop. Teasing is the name of  _ your  _ game when it comes to Dante, mainly because you know he can’t stand it. Or, rather, that it’s a one-way ticket to him fucking you so hard you can’t walk straight for a couple of days. You were impressed that the two of you made it all the way to lunch without him making a move to get up from behind his desk. Then baffled when it stretched to dinnertime and he was still seated firmly in his chair, a magazine over his face as he dozed away the afternoon. 

It wasn’t until you’d locked the door that he’d moved at all, coming up behind you in the split second you’d been turned away and pinning you there with his bulk. “Hope you had fun, darlin’,” he’d purred, one of his hands gripping your waist while the other slid up to tug at the hem of your shirt. “It’s my turn, now.”

You’d barely gotten out a faint, “oh,” before he’d quite literally swept you off your feet, his mouth hot and feverish on yours as he carried you up the stairs and over the threshold into your bedroom.  _ What a gentleman,  _ you’d thought, right up until he yanked your shirt over your head, twisting it around your hands until they were immobilized above your head, his weight pinning your hips to the mattress. Now, as he runs his fingers over the edges of your bra, his baby blues damn near glowing, you can’t stop the thrill of anticipation that rocks up your spine. 

Dante sits back and opens his pants, and your eyes go straight to his hand pulling out his hard, thick cock. “Where are you putting that, babe?” you grin.

He taps your sternum playfully, though his expression is anything but. “Right here, sweetheart. You wanted me starin’ at your tits, and now I’m gonna fuck ‘em.”

You bite your lip and do your best to arch your back, and he hooks his fingers under the cups and pulls them down until your breasts are exposed, the lace pressing them up. There’s something inherently erotic about both of you being mostly clothed that sends a flush of heat between your thighs, and you rub them together as he cups your flesh in his palms and squeezes them together, his thumbs teasing over your nipples. “Prettiest pair I’ve ever seen,” he rumbles, and you blush at the praise even as you nudge his back with your knee.

“Quit fucking around,” you complain.

Dante laughs, a low sound that makes your skin prickle, but he leans forward so the blunt head of his length nudges between your breasts. His skin is so heated where it presses on yours, and that and the steady stream fluid that smears over your sternum lets you know how riled up you’ve gotten him. 

He starts to move, slow and steady, and you watch as he readjusts your body around his. Dante is big enough that your breasts couldn’t possibly completely envelop his length, but he tries his best as he squeezes them tightly. He tilts his chin down, mouth open as he watches, his breath leaving him in harsh pants. There’s a dull red glow to his pupils and a sharpness to his canines, and you think that he never looks more beautiful than he does in moments like these, his inhibitions all but gone and the muscles you wish you could see flexing with every thrust of his hips. You want him between your thighs more than anything, whether it’s his mouth or his cock, but you know he’s going to have his fun before giving you what you crave, a little bit of payback for teasing him all day.

“Open your mouth,” he grunts.

Eagerly you obey, and he releases your breasts to fist his cock, pumping it with harsh, quick strokes until, with a growl of your name, he begins to come. Some of his seed lands on your tongue, but most of it falls in ropes over your chin and chest, and you do your best to swallow what you can while he works himself through his orgasm. You’re not too upset that he finished so quickly; he exhibited a patience you never knew he had, and a bit of teasing always leaves him with a short fuse. But you know that it happening now means that the next round is going to last longer than his usual—which is already pretty long—and you lick remnants of him from your lip, shivering when he braces a hand next to your head and shifts so his hips are cradled by your thighs.

“Round two,” Dante grins, and you close your eyes when he pops the button on your shorts.


	3. Cum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _WARNING:_ This chapter contains Dante in his SDT form. If that is something you're uncomfortable with, please skip this entry!

“Holy shit.”

It’s all you can think to say, given your current situation. A job gone wrong has left Dante in a bit of a predicament, trapped in his Sin Devil Trigger with no way to phase back, and both of you had been searching through what little occult tomes you’d managed to procure over the years since he’d gotten back. Your body, however, had reminded you that the post hunt ritual of him tearing your clothes off in his haste to get his dick inside you had been interrupted, so, with a sheepish sort of wave, you’d gone to take a shower, where you’d gotten yourself off, hoping a small bit of release would make it easier to concentrate instead of focusing on all of the wrong things. Like how firm his ass is, or the fact that he towers over you more now than ever, or that rough, ridged tongue you’d caught glimpses of as he did his best to speak with a maw not made for doing it.

What you’d forgotten was that his sense of smell, already better than a human’s, was sharpened to an insane degree whenever he shifted forms. All of his senses were. Which meant, of course, that he’d been well aware of exactly what you’d been doing, and you’d returned to the shop to find him panting, the desk in splinters from his claws digging into it, his tongue all but lolling out of his mouth as if tasting the air.  _ Holy shit,  _ indeed, and more so when you caught sight of the massive cock jutting from between his legs, thick and ridged and glowing the same molten color of his eyes. You know it will not, in any circumstance, fit in you without a hell of a lot of prep and more than a few prayers.

That doesn’t stop your mouth from watering with anticipation.

His breath leaves him in a rasped purr as you step closer, a hand the size of your head reaching out for you. “Big boy,” you murmur, your gaze locked on the fluid streaming steadily from his length. It seems thicker than normal, and you want, in that moment, more than anything, to taste it, but that raises the question of how. On a good day, going down on Dante leaves your jaw aching. The size he is now, you doubt that more than the head will fit, though, with how tall he is, at least you won’t have to kneel down to do it. 

He catches you by the waist, hoisting you up to eye-level and bending a knee for you to balance on as his tongue laves over your neck up to your cheek. The sensation is strange, but not unpleasant, and you’re already spinning into thoughts of what it would feel like between your legs, pressing to your clit, or running over your nipples. When it nudges your lips, you part them, and you can’t help but moan as the spiced flavor of him fills your mouth when you suck on it. Dante grunts, curling the muscle to lick over your teeth until you’re panting and squirming in his grip, your clothes suddenly too hot and too tight against your sensitive skin. Only then does he break the kiss to return to your throat, and the graze of his fangs makes you gasp. Sure, you and Dante have played around with his Devil Trigger before, but this? You don’t know that you’ve ever wanted him this badly.

“Dante,” you whine, jolting when his tongue wraps around your breast over your shirt. “Dante, let me down. I want to . . .”

A low rumble resonates from his chest, but he does as you’ve asked. The moment your feet touch the floor, you’re stripping, uncaring where your clothes wind up as long as they’re not on you, and his cock twitches with each inch of skin you reveal to him. You shuck your panties off your hips and step forward, pushing at his stomach. “Sit.”

Down he goes, until he’s on the ground, and you follow, crawling between thighs that could crush you without any trouble at all, groaning when his cock nudges your cheek. Dante’s eyes are white-hot as he watches you get settled; normally you’d dive right in, but you feel like getting acquainted with this new him first, so you take a few minutes to explore. Up close, you can see the slit in his plating where his length emerges and the way the tip flares out and down and the ridges that cover it and, down at the base, a faint protrusion that you’re pretty sure would press on your clit nicely if you could ever fit enough of him within you to get it there. He doesn’t rush you, though you can hear how ragged his breathing grows the longer you touch him, and, satisfied—for now—you lean up to press your lips to the weeping head.

The flavor that explodes across your tongue is unlike any other: rich and heady, with a faint  _ something _ you can’t quite name. What surprises you more than how potent it is, however, is the slight tingling that spreads along your mouth and the utterly obscene amount of slick that slips over your thighs.  _ Is he secreting a fucking aphrodisiac? _

Whatever it is, it makes fitting the first few inches much easier. You’re pulling away to draw a deep breath, determined to get as much of him as you can, when Dante grabs you again, and you yelp as he manhandles you easily until he’s got your thighs wrapped around his head. The first pass of his tongue over your slit has you moaning, your hands scrabbling over his stomach. It’s everything you hoped for and more, the friction when he dips it between your folds to run over your clit delicious; he pauses there, his hips shifting so his cock nudges your lips, and you open eagerly to let him slide between, the strain easier to bear at this angle. 

You’re more than happy to let him take the lead. He fucks your mouth with his length and your sex with his tongue, and the more of his precum you swallow, the more relaxed and aroused you get, until you’re teetering on the brink of overstimulation. Every inch of you is sensitive, from your throbbing clit to your tender nipples, and your orgasm takes you utterly by surprise when it hits, tearing a cry from your throat that’s muffled by his flesh as it lashes over you in wave after wave of bliss. Dante growls, his claws digging into your backside, and his hips take on a desperate pace seconds before the first rush of his seed fills your mouth.

And, holy fuck, there’s  _ so much. _

It floods your throat, forcing you to draw back to swallow and breathe, and the rest coats your neck, your chest, his stomach, pooling and dripping in streams already going sticky in the chill air of the shop. It’s the most you’ve ever seen from him, even in his devil form, and you shift to sit on his chest and reach to take his cock in your hands, pumping as it continues to coat his abdomen, licking your lips when some of it splatters on your thighs. A full minute goes by with him twisting beneath you, and by the time he’s done, you’re certain you’re going to have to scrub the floors just to be safe, and you’re turning to make that quip when electricity crackles against your skin. Then the length in your grasp is flesh, the muscles beneath you firm but definitely human, and you laugh softly as Dante groans, swatting lightly at your rear.

“Jesus fuck,” he mumbles. “You alright, darlin’? I didn’t realize . . . Well, it’s, uh . . .”

“Good thing I got undressed,” you tease. “Have you done this before? Feel like I would have noticed that many towels getting dirty.”

Dante snorts. “Nah. Didn’t even know I could, if I’m honest. You sure you’re alright? I didn’t hurt ya, did I?”

Grinning, you move so you’re facing him, your hands braced on either side of his head. His familiar baby blues trail over your face and down your chest, his pupils dilating at the sight of the mess he’s made of you. “Nope,” you declare. “In fact, that was really,  _ really  _ hot. Can we do it again?”

He runs a finger through the fluid drying on your skin, his nostrils flaring with what you recognize as desire. “You want to?”

“Mm-hm.” You rock your hips, dragging your slit over his cock, which is still hard. “Right now, in fact.”

His eyes take on a red shine as he pushes up to his elbows. “Greedy,” he clicks his tongue, “but who am I to deny ya?”

Dante rolls you both, pinning you beneath him as his mouth claims yours, and you suck on his tongue eagerly, hoping no one decides to call for a few days.


	4. Dirty Secret

“Really, Dante?  _ Pizza delivery?”  _

He grins up at you from between your breasts, his hands smoothing over your backside. “Yeah! You know, you order a pizza, realize you can’t pay, and I give you some extra sausage.”

You smother a snort as you card your fingers through his hair and give the strands a gentle tug. “Why would I order a pizza if I couldn’t afford it? And why would I then pay the pizza man with sex instead of, I dunno, cancelling the order?”

“Babe,” he groans. “It’s for the  _ fantasy. _ ”

“You watch too many pornos.” Dante huffs and buries his face against your chest, and you laugh softly at the peek of his eyes over your flesh; he’s not prone to sulking, but those puppy-dog eyes of his are mighty damn close. “Am I supposed to open the door naked, too?”

His hand dips between your thighs, teasing over your sex, which is still slick from him having you bent over his desk. “Nope.” He pops the ‘p’. “You know that cute lil’ lingerie you bought last month?”

“The one you ripped in half?”

“The other one.” You shift a little to get his fingers where you want them, and he slides one into your opening, the glide shallow due to the angle. “The black, uh . . . negligee? Isn’t that what you called it. You could always wear that, give me the pleasure of unwrappin’ ya, too.”

“You’re a fiend,” you deadpan. He hums, pressing a kiss between your breasts before taking a nipple into his mouth, and the pressure of his tongue on the sensitive bud has you squirming in his grip, which rocks you against his finger. It’s an assault on all fronts, and you relent with a dramatic sigh. “Fine, you devil! Pizza delivery it is.”

* * *

You tousle your hair carefully before double-checking your reflection in the mirror. Dante is due any minute for this little fantasy of his, and you want to make sure you’re as irresistible as you can be; “I’ve always wanted to do the pizza delivery thing,” wasn’t  _ exactly  _ what you expected when you asked if he had any dirty little secrets, but it’s certainly light enough on the spectrum that you don’t mind it too much. Your negligee is all sheer black lace, hiding absolutely nothing, and you’ve paired it with a black lace thong and the black heels that always drive him wild. The lingerie will probably be in tatters by the end of the night, but you’re not too worried about it, since you’ve got a dirty little secret of your own. 

Dante manhandling you really,  _ really  _ turns you on. 

At nine on the dot, the doorbell buzzes, and you blow yourself a kiss before heading downstairs. You’ve barely made it down two steps before it buzzes again. And then again. And  _ again.  _ If Dante really was a delivery man, you think, he’d piss off all of his clients.

You’re more than a little irate when you reach the front door, which results in you yanking it open with a bit more force than necessary, but it shifts to something more akin to bemusement when you catch sight of what he’s wearing. It seems he’s taken the porno slant to heart, clad in low-slung jeans that cling to his thighs, his chest left bare save for an apron that’s cinched in to show off his waist, and he grins as he peers at you from beneath the brim of the hat he’d no doubt borrowed from Antonio’s. “Someone order a pizza with extra sausage?”

Doing your best to smother a laugh, you put on what you hope is a sultry smile. “That would be me. But,” you pout, “I can’t find my wallet. Is there any way you could let me off the hook, just this once?”

“I dunno. Boss probably wouldn’t be too happy.” Dante makes a show of looking you over, his eyes lingering at the swell of your breasts. “I  _ could  _ pay outta my tips, but I’d need somethin’ nice from you.”

“Something nice?” you murmur. Teasingly, you toy with the strap to your negligee, pushing it down your shoulder until the cup on the right is barely covering anything at all, and his lips part at the hint of your nipple above the fabric. “Why don’t you come in so we can . . . discuss it?”

He flashes another grin as he steps by you, and you quickly shut and lock the door before following him into the shop. Per your request, he’d gotten a real pizza to go along with this, and the scent of it wafting through the air as he sets it on his desk makes your mouth water and your stomach rumble. Dante must have a similar thought, because there’s a split second of hesitation before he turns back to you, and he glances at it over his shoulder. “You, uh . . .”

"You said something about payment?" you prompt.

"Oh! Yeah." Dante grins and takes a step towards you, his hips popping with extra swagger. "I got a big ol' pepperoni for ya."

"Oh my," you sigh, fanning yourself to cover your laughter. "That is sure to cost extra."

With a grin, his tongue half hanging out of his mouth, Dante yanks on his belt. You shift a bit as he makes a show of pulling it through the loops, whipping it off like a stripper and tossing it over his head. "Man that smells good," he murmurs.

"What?"

"The pizza. Smells good." He glances at it before shaking his head. "But I bet you're even better."

He grabs you and sweeps you into a low dip, covering your mouth with his. His tongue is hot and insistent as you cling to his shoulders, letting him support your weight and praying he doesn't drop you. Your hands slide upwards into his hair, glad the silliness is over and you can get to the action when you are interrupted by a very loud growl in his stomach.

His struggle is adorable. Dante sets you back on your feet with a sheepish expression, and you hum and wrap your arms around his shoulders. “Why don’t we eat first?” you suggest. “Then we can go upstairs.”

He deflates a bit. “You sure? Seems pretty dumb now, and I know you must be starvin’, but . . .”

“No buts. Keep the pants on, though. They’re hot.”

There’s another second of thought before he relaxes, holding you close with an arm at your waist and lifting you easily off of your feet. “Yeah? You like ‘em?” You nod, and he moves behind his desk to sit in his chair, situating you comfortably on his lap. “Good. This,” he tugs at the lace hem of your negligee, “is fuckin’  _ sexy,  _ by the way. You should wear it every day.”

“Even to greet clients?”

He reaches over you to open the box and grab two slices, handing one of them to you. “Maybe not. But the rest of the time, hell yeah.”


	5. Experience

If you’ve got one complaint about your life with Dante, it’s the hovering  _ almost  _ that thickens the air between you whenever a touch lingers or a kiss gets heated. Despite all of his rough edges, he’s a gentleman through and through in matters of romance—or at least as much of one as he knows how to be, making sure to offer you the last slice of pizza or buying the beers he knows you like. It’s the little things, really, that make you feel like you could stay with him forever, which is why this one big thing has you twisted in knots. To put it simply, you’re more than ready to have sex with him.

He, on the other hand, seems bound and determined to miss all of your hints.

You’ve tried the subtle and not-so-subtle suggestions. Offering an intimate massage that put him right to sleep. A candlelit dinner. Lingerie. Hell, you even went out and got everything waxed and made a show of having him feel how soft and smooth your legs were while wearing a pair of shorts that nearly flashed him when you bent over, and he’d grinned and said they were soft as silk and then gone off to see about dinner. You’re not sure if it’s something about you or just his own personal hang-ups keeping his dick securely in his tight leather pants, or if he’s just so dense that he doesn’t realize.

Either way, it’s wreaking havoc on your libido and your self-esteem, so you decide to bite the bullet and just ask upfront. No more beating around the bush. “Dante,” you call from the couch. He lifts the latest issue of  _ Gun Time  _ from his face to peer at you, a brow raised, and you sit up from your sprawl. “Do you want to have sex with me?”

His eyes get so comically wide and his face so bright red that you wonder if he’s about to have a stroke. “Uh . . . I, uh . . . You . . .”

Or maybe he’s just short-circuiting.

“You. Me. Sex.” You point to him, and then yourself. “Do you want to?”

“I mean, uh . . .” He swallows and clears his throat. “I’ve thought about it. Just, uh . . . Never seemed like a good time to bring it up.”

At that, you snort. “Even when I was parading around in black lace?”

“I thought you were just hot.”

“The massage?”

“A nice gift?”

“Dante,” you say, half-laughing and half-exasperated, “I was dropping  _ hints.  _ You know, that I wanted you to bend me over the desk?”

“Sorry, babe, I guess I missed ‘em.” He  _ does  _ look apologetic, which makes you wonder if there’s more to this than what he’s letting on. Curious now, you stand and make your way to him, and he wraps an arm around your waist when you settle into his lap, and he won’t meet your eyes. His cheeks are still flushed pink as he mumbles, “Never really had anyone try before.”

You blink at that. “Never had anyone try to sleep with you?”

“. . . Yeah.”

Well,  _ that’s  _ a surprise. A guy as handsome as he is, you’d figured he’d had more than his fair share of partners. Then again, demon hunting isn’t exactly a gig made for any sort of relationship, especially when you’ve got as many walls as Dante does; hell, getting him to date  _ you  _ had been like pulling teeth. “So, and please don’t take this the wrong way, you’re a virgin?”

Dante huffs and buries his face in the crook of your neck, making his reply nearly inaudible. “Yeah.”

“I see.” You mull over that for a moment, the carefully nudge his face up to yours. “You want to do this, or do you want to wait a while longer? I’m good either way,” you add when his brows furrow, getting that crease between them that you always want to kiss, “I just want to make sure  _ you’re  _ comfortable.”

“It ain’t me I’m worried about.” You tilt your head, and he sighs. “You know, uh . . . . a quick trigger, so to speak. Pretty sure that’s what’ll happen if we do this.”

With a smile, you lean forward to press your lips to his. It’s one of the things you love about Dante: no matter what the two of you are doing, he’s always worried about you and your happiness, and beneath the warmth that his concern causes is a thrill at being able to show him exactly what you like. His mouth is pliant under yours, opening easily, and he groans when you coax his tongue into your mouth to suck on it, his hands sliding to grab your hips. You kiss him until he’s breathless and panting into your mouth, then you draw back and play with the ends of his hair. “I’ll teach you.”

Dante considers that before he nods with a faintly there grin. “Alright. Who am I to say no to such a pretty lady?”

That makes you giggle, and you reach down to grip the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head. Given that you had no plans to do anything today, you’re not wearing a bra beneath, and Dante’s eyes immediately fix on your chest, his lips parting as his pupils go wide. “These aren’t just nice to look at,” you tell him. You cup your breasts in your palms, squeezing them gently, and his gaze is so intent as he memorizes how you’re doing it that it makes your heart melt. “Sensitivity varies by size, but a firm touch, especially here,” you caress your nipples with your thumbs, “will make anyone happy.”

He glances at you before reaching up to touch you, and you place your own hands on his forearms, stroking him reassuringly. Dante copies your actions, kneading your flesh before teasing your nipples with slow strokes and the occasional careful pinch, and you hum and close your eyes, more than content to allow him to do as he pleases. Each touch sends a pleasant little jolt down your spine; you’re so lulled by them that you fail to notice when he leans forward until his lips seal around one of the buds, and his first, tentative suckle has a gasp leaving your throat. “That’s it, baby,” you whisper.

Now that he’s got your approval, he works your body feverishly. What he lacks in experience, he more than makes up for with his enthusiasm, and it’s not long before your clit is throbbing and your panties are soaked. It’s a bit of a struggle to get your shorts off, but he helps by lifting you to his desk and pulling them down your legs, which he stands between as he leans down to kiss you. “Bent over the desk, huh?” he teases.

“Close enough,” you agree.

You take one of his hands and guide it down to your weeping sex. His eyes narrow when he touches your heated flesh, a hiss escaping him, and as he presses a finger into your opening, you reach down to unfasten his belt and trousers, your mouth watering when you finally grasp his cock. “Big boy,” you murmur. And it’s true; Dante’s not only long, but  _ thick,  _ and the thought of having that girth stretching you has you arching into him. With a grunt, he braces a hand next to your head, the other helping you line him up. He lets out a shaking breath when the head of him nudges into you, and you cup his face to pull him down into a kiss, slowly urging him on with gentle rolls of your hips. With every inch that sinks into your sex, both of you moan. You’re so full by the time his hips are flush to yours that you can barely breathe, let alone think, and he must feel the same, because his chest heaves as he pants against your mouth.

“Babe,” he groans, “I gotta . . .”

“Please,” you breathe.

He thrusts slowly, never drawing more than halfway out, and you can see the strain in the tightness of his shoulders beneath his shirt. “Like this,” you say quietly, and you hook a leg around his hips, using it to both encourage him and to shift the angle so the stretch is more pleasant and his cock rubs against a spot that has you seeing stars. He follows immediately, working his hips slow and deep, and even if you don’t wind up finishing too, it’s going to be worth it for the sight of him: face screwed up in pleasure and concentration, his mouth open as he pants and groans, sweat beading on his brow. 

The only warning you get before it’s over is a hitch to his breathing. Then his teeth sink into your shoulder as his hips jerk between your thighs, liquid heat filling you and making his movements silky. You cradle his head, running your fingers through his scalp; despite the faint stab of disappointment that it’s done so soon, there’s an undeniable satisfaction at the seed that drips between your thighs when he pulls out, in having him come apart so fervently thanks to you. 

“‘M sorry,” Dante mumbles. He kisses the mark on your shoulder, his weight all but smothering you.

Not that you mind. “You can make it up to me,” you tease gently. “Just let me shower first. I don’t think you’d enjoy the taste of yourself too much.”

He stiffens and you think you’ve said the wrong then. But his eyes are blazing when he lifts his head to look at you, a red shine over his pupils that has excitement thrumming through you. “Don’t care,” he rumbles. “Just tell me what to do.”

And you do.


	6. Favorite Position

Dante is a man of simple tastes. Despite what his monthly coat expenditure might lead you to believe, he doesn’t care much about finer things; he’s fine with the cheap six packs of beer and cheaper pizza—though he does have a love for top-shelf booze that he indulges in from time to time—and that translates into the bedroom, too. Sure, he appreciates lingerie when you wear it, and gets that adorable flush to his cheeks whenever you bring in candles to make the night more romantic, but he’s really just happy to share that intimacy with you. Everything else is secondary. 

That doesn’t mean he  _ lacks  _ preferences. You’d learned early on that he’s got quite a few things he enjoys more than others, and some things drive him absolutely wild. Tug his hair and he’ll pound you into the mattress. Paint your lips red and he’s desperate to see them around his cock. Wear a skirt with no panties beneath and he’ll have you hiked up on his desk with his head between your thighs in no time. And, if you’re feeling particularly bold or needy, getting close enough to plead breathlessly in his ear will have his other half coming out to play faster than you can blink, leaving you more than satisfied and shaky-legged for the next couple of days.

Those preferences of his extend to how he fucks you, too. It’s not always exactly the same, especially when it comes to location, but there are positions he favors above the others: having you on your knees while he takes you from behind, because it lets him deeper and he’s got more control over the pace; lying on top of you, his mouth searing on yours, craving the connection, every inch of your bodies pressed together; and your personal favorite, you on top, your back to him as you ride his dick. Something about it just makes your pleasure sharper than the other positions you’ve tried. Maybe it’s the semblance of control over a man who’s so powerful. Maybe it’s how different the stretch is, or how you can so easily change the angle with a shift of your hips. Maybe it’s how needy it makes him. Or maybe it’s all of that, along with some other reasons you haven’t thought of.

Whatever the case, you don’t think either of you will ever get tired of it.

_ “Fuck,”  _ he groans, and you grin as you toss your hair over your shoulder. Your thighs are burning from how long you’ve been riding him, but you don’t mind; the only reason he hasn’t filled you yet is the ring clamped snugly around the base of his cock, and the only reason  _ that’s  _ still in place are the cuffs snapped around his wrists. Every time you sink onto his length, he lets out a groan that has more wetness seeping from your body, and you brace on hand behind you on his stomach while you use the other to tease your throbbing clit.

“Mm,” you moan, making a show of your head falling back. You’ve been teasing him for nearly an hour now—teasing yourself, too—and you wonder how much more he can take before he breaks out of his restraints and fucks your brains out. Which is your end goal, really. Riling him up is certainly fun, but it’s the moment his self-control snaps that you really live for. “You need to come, baby?”   
  
“Please,” Dante rasps.   
  
You slide your fingers a little lower to stroke the base of his cock, and his hips jolt in response. “Poor thing. It’s too bad you’re all tied up.”

“Babe . . .”

“Am I going too fast?” You hear the handcuffs rattle as he strains against them, and you bite your lip to keep from laughing. “Need me to slow down?”

He doesn’t reply, and you’re turning to make sure he hasn’t had a stroke when there’s the sound of metal snapping and his arms wind around your waist, pinning your own against your body. His mouth presses to your shoulder as he reaches down to break the ring, and you shudder when he teeth graze your skin and he drags your arms behind your back, holding them there with one large hand around your wrists. “This what you wanted, darlin’?” Dante growls.   
  
“Mm-hm. Took you long enou— _ oh.”  _

Unable to move, you can only moan as he begins to rock his hips, the stroke of his cock within you deep and powerful. “Gotta say,” he grunts. “The handcuffs? Nice touch. Next time,  _ you’ll  _ be in ‘em.”

You shudder to think of what he’ll do to you with you completely at his mercy, and he laughs roughly as he catches the lobe of your ear between his teeth and gives it a tug. “For now, why don’t you come on my cock? Since that’s what I know you’re desperate to do.”

“You first,” you laugh.   
  
Dante presses you forward, forcing your shoulders down to press against his thighs and your hips in the air. “Give me a show and I will,” he replies.

You huff, wriggling as best as you can in his grip. “How am I supposed to do anything like this?” you complain.

He pauses for a moment before saying, “Good point.” Then he grabs your waist, and you yelp as you’re flipped onto your back and dragged up onto his lap. “Much better.”

“I thought you didn’t like missionary,” you mutter.

Dante grins. “Doesn’t matter which position, as long as I can see you.”

You’re about to give him a scolding when he leans over you, his mouth finding your breast as his length presses back between your folds, and you moan and grip his hair as he moves in earnest. Like this, your body stretched around him, you can feel every bump and ridge of his cock, from the flare at the tip to the vein that runs along the underside, and you moan helplessly as it drags along your walls, causing a friction that makes your core clench. Add in the pulses of pleasure from his lips tugging at your nipple and you know you’re not gonna last much longer.  _ Give him a show,  _ he’d said, and as you slip your hand between your bodies to part your folds you think,  _ I will.  _


End file.
